


To Fall From Grace

by athenswrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Assassination Plot(s), Character Death, Daggers, Dark Hermione Granger, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Death Eaters, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Heavy Themes, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Horcrux Hunting, Maybe smut? We'll see, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 12:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenswrites/pseuds/athenswrites
Summary: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are dead.The war rages on and the last Horcrux is still yet to be found. Overwhelmed by grief, Hermione Granger breaks off from the Order and finds herself in an unlikely alliance as she embarks on a mission to find a very powerful and dark weapon, one crafted by Merlin himself.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	To Fall From Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: This work will be dark. To Fall From Grace will contain mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, murder, death, depictions of violence, and other dark themes. Although it won't get as dark as other (amazing) fics, viewer discretion is still advised. 
> 
> Before we start, I want to give a HUGE thanks to everyone who has helped and supported me! My amazing readers from Salt Air, I adore you all so much, and thank you for being so patient with me. My beta readers, @ephipos and @hvrmalfoy, I truly could not have done this without you, you've made taught me so much and I cannot even begin to tell you all how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Thank you all for the endless love.

Twelve days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson flew her broom off the side of a cliff.

It was a warm Thursday afternoon—just barely after lunch—when a few students repairing the Entrance Courtyard saw her fly off Hogwarts grounds, and towards the Great Lake. According to several eyewitnesses, she intentionally slipped off her broom and dove headfirst into the unforgiving waters. Not a single scream left her lips, in fact, she looked almost relieved, _relaxed_.

It took rescue teams eight whole hours to find the former Slytherin's body in the murky Lake. Her body was freezing and lifeless when they lifted it out; her skin blotchy with discoloration and her hair plastered to her cheeks.

She could not be revived.

When Hermione received the news, she couldn't help but feel the slightest flicker of jealousy.

Despite the hushed whispers that spoke of poor, foolish Pansy, Hermione understood why she had done it. Had taken her own life. _Screw_ her Gryffindor courage. If she actually had any, she too would be six feet underground. But instead, she was too damn terrified to do anything that would be set in stone— _literally_. 

The war left a profound and ugly scar on everyone, some more visible than others. 

George Weasley had gone missing after Fred and Ron's funeral. He broke Molly's favorite mirror when they returned to the Burrow after the service, leaving without another word. No one's seen him since.

Lavender Brown had a large bite mark stretched across her shoulder blades; she was two seconds away from dying when Neville stunned Greyback and brought Lavender to the hospital ward. Her right arm became paralyzed and no amount of magic could save it. 

As for Hermione, her scars ran deeper than the scabbed letters carved into the skin of her forearm. It was like all her memories of _that_ day were burned into the back of her eyelids; superimposed onto her brain.

Every time she even dared to rest her eyes, pictures of the courtyard stained with blood and unmoving bodies would playback like a broken record; haunting screams forever echoing in her ear. If drowning herself in the Great Lake would silence it all, then Hermione would do it in a heartbeat, but of course, she lacked the courage to do so.

No one won the war.

After Voldemort murdered Harry, and then Ron for trying to save him, the fighting ensued until nightfall. Both sides retreated and tensions had been high ever since. The air was thick with desperation and often stunk of hopelessness. The Boy Who Lived, lived no more, and the Boy Who Cared, cared too much.

No one had won or lost, but Hermione felt like _she_ had lost everything and more. She was still struggling to cope with the loss of her two best friends while the remainder of the Wizarding World turned to her for guidance.

The headlines were absurd and some made her laugh out loud. _Last standing member of the infamous Golden Trio_ , the Daily Prophet had called her. ' _Hermione Granger:_ _The Girl Who Lived and Our New Savior?'_

Some title that was, trusting a teenager with winning a war? Leave it up to Rita Skeeter to write the most ridiculous stories. Surely, she would follow in Harry's footsteps and lead them to victory, right?

_Wrong._

Hermione had absolutely no idea what she was doing, other than being stuck in phases of melancholy where everything around her faded into an insignificant blur of colors and static noise. Plus, the dark thoughts that occasionally invaded her brain like unexpected summer storms didn't help either, they were unsettling and foreign. Sometimes it frightened her that she was capable of such ideas, but other times she accepted it. It was just another gift the war had bequeathed on her.

There were a total of nine Horcruxes that Tom Riddle made. Harry was one of them, but the second the Dark Lord realized Harry wasn't dead, he shot the Killing Curse at him, then at Narcissa Malfoy, for what reason, Hermione didn't know. The last Horcrux was still yet to be found and without the help of Harry's connection to them, it seemed like they were never going to find it. The Order tried to remain optimistic, but fucking rays of sunshine and rainbows weren't going to find them a Horcrux.

Of course, whenever the voices in her head did die down—which was getting rarer with each passing day—and Hermione could formulate a war strategy, the Order rejected every idea she proposed. The Ministry refused to use any forms of Dark Magic against the Death Eaters and Hermione thought, no she _knew_ , that using it was the only way they would have any chance of winning. Look where solely using weak spells like _Expelliarmus_ got Harry. He's as dead as a fucking doornail; immortalized as a glorified bird-shit-covered statue erected in the courtyard where he took his last breath. Ron got his own statue too, but Hermione thought they would've been better off without one. The sculptors couldn't even get their eyes right. Fucking wankers had one job.

So there she was, Hermione Granger, alone on the first day of her Eighth year and a fake smile decorating her lips. It was getting more difficult to pretend like everything was fine when everything was far from fine. Dumbledore had been dead for two years now; fell off the Astronomy Tower seconds after being hit with a strike of the Killing Curse. Hermione thought it was maddening that no one had figured out who'd done it. How were they supposed to feel safe again when the crumbling stone walls allowed in a group of Death Eaters to murder one of the most powerful wizards in Wizarding history?

McGonagall took the title of Headmistress shortly after his death and was doing everything in her power to maintain some sense of normalcy. It wasn't working.

It had been nearly four months since the Battle of Hogwarts, and everything was different. They were in the Great Hall, having their first feast of the year, and the discrepancies were so obvious, anyone would've figured it out upon entry. No first-years were admitted, it was far too dangerous to take in a new wave of wizards and put them at risk of war. Hermione deduced that less than half the school returned, with less than eighty students in each House. Hogwarts could be attacked again and they could return to war at any moment. So no, everything was far from normal and everyone should stop bloody pretending like it was.

Somewhere in the murky colors and noise, Hermione caught Ginny turn from her conversation to look at her. The red-headed girl's face was contorted with concern and the absurdity of it all almost made her laugh. At his deathbed, Hermione had given Ron her word that she'd look after his sister, but somehow, the roles had been reversed. Bloody hell, she couldn't even keep a promise to her dead best friend. Add that to her ever-growing list of failures.

After everything that happened, Ginny's striking ginger hair was still combed perfectly, and not a smudge of makeup out of place. She'd lost her boyfriend and two of her brothers all in the same day, she should be in the same state, if not worse, as Hermione—but she wasn't. She was the same old flawless Ginny.

There it was again, that same flicker of jealousy.

"You haven't eaten anything," Ginny finally said, eyebrows creased. "At least have a roll of bread."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes going out of focus again as she poked mindlessly at the roast beef on her plate, "I'm not hungry."

It wasn't a lie, but the look on Ginny's face told that she thought otherwise. Tired of trying to get Hermione to eat again, she returned to her conversation with someone Hermione didn't recognize.

She truly didn't know how she could possibly form an appetite when the two gaping spots where Harry and Ron were supposed to be seated right now, were empty. It was unusual; eating without Ron asking every few seconds if she was going to finish her roasted potatoes or her sausages. It all felt wrong, almost like a betrayal, creating a deep gut-wrenching feeling in her stomach—one that twisted and turned in the worst way possible. Hermione figured if she ate anything, it would all come out minutes later anyway. Better to not eat than to eat and throw it all up later.

Her eyes lingered on their empty spots a little longer than she'd intended to, her chest tightening at a realization. It was quiet. Their voices and laughter echoed back to her in heart-wrenching flashbacks. She remembered how she constantly told them to simmer down for a few minutes so she could concentrate on reading. Oh, how she regretted that. They would never babble on about random topics during breakfast and try to get her to join their conversations about Quidditch again.

Godric, she should've talked about bloody Quidditch with them. Should've treasured those extra moments. The beating organ in her ribcage ached with cruel, newfound, loneliness each night as she tried to fight the insomnia clinging to her like a parasite.

It was the darkest parts of the night when she felt the most isolated from the rest of the world, but yet she found a sort of peace with it. It was quieter and the permanent screams in her ear faded to the background—they never did leave. The moon had become her only companion, her light felt warmer than the sun, whose beams always seemed to burn everything it touched.

A wave of whispers washed over the Great Hall and several heads turned to the entrance. Following their line of sight, Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and twisted to look at whatever had stolen everyone's attention. The children of various notorious Death Eaters were trailing in, led by none other than Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini. She could feel their pride and ego as they strode in with chins held high. A flood of rage washed through her veins and Hermione stood abruptly, squeezing her fingers into tight fists.

_How had they been allowed to return?_

Her sudden stance caught Malfoy's attention, his bored eyes drifting to hers as he walked toward his house table. Hermione held the eye contact—exchanging silent daggers with the blond as he continued down the pathway. The entire Great Hall fell into an awestruck silence as the two fought a bloodless battle. He broke the stare-down first and sat at the Slytherin table with his back facing Hermione, clearly unfazed by the interaction. She huffed furiously and forced herself to sit down. Ignoring the wary looks of everyone at Gryffindor, Hermione turned to Ginny.

"Why are they here?" she hissed, voice laced with venom. "Their parents are murderers, _war criminals,_ did McGonagall allow them back?"

Ginny looked over Hermione's shoulder at the Slytherins, for a brief moment, a flash of anger flitted across her calm eyes, "I don't know... you'll have to ask her yourself. She didn't tell us any of this at our last Order meeting."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with letting them back," said Luna, popping out of nowhere. She slipped into the empty spot where Harry used to sit and a lump grew in Hermione's throat. She looked down at her untouched plate of food and poked at it with a fork, doing her best to avoid the sight. The ditzy Ravenclaw continued, "They didn't do anything wrong."

Hermione's head snapped up and she tried to maintain a neutral tone, "Their parents are _Death Eaters,_ Luna. They're our enemies. Did you forget we're in the middle of a war?"

"But _they_ aren't Death Eaters, their parents are the ones who have done terrible things," Luna responded airily, crossing her arms on the table. Her rainbow earrings swayed with her movements. "It wouldn't be fair to punish them for something they didn't do. Plus, a few of them are quite dreamy to look at."

"It's a risk I'm not willing to take," she tightened her jaw and stood; her dinner plate still piled to the top with untouched food. Avoiding Luna's eyes, Hermione shot Ginny a quick glance. "I'll see you in the Common Room later."

Fleeing the sounds of forced laughter and silverware clinking on plates, Hermione took long strides out of the Great Hall before she could even be asked where she was going. Blinded by the fury that clouded her thoughts, Hermione was at her destination in a flash. She angrily barged into the Headmistress's Office, startling McGonagall who was nose deep in paperwork.

"Good evening, Miss Granger, I was just about to go down to the Great Hall," she said, looking up at her student. "May I help you?"

Pointing a finger behind her, the Gryffindor stepped closer to the Headmistress. She could feel her cheeks flush with color, the anger she was trying so desperately to keep to a simmer earlier boiling over, "Why have you allowed them to return?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Malfoy, Zabini, Nott, the others?" she said through grit teeth. "Have you lost your bloody mind? They're related to Death Eaters!"

McGonagall frowned, her expression twisting in disapproval, "You will do well to watch your language, Miss Granger. They have done nothing wrong, I see no reason to not allow them back."

"They could be _spies_!" Hermione's voice rose an octave as it edged dangerously to cracking. "You don't know what they are capable of."

"They are being kept under a watchful eye," the older witch replied calmly. "It is no concern of yours." White spots flickered in Hermione's vision and she felt suddenly faint with frustration. She couldn't even begin to comprehend how the Headmistress was allowing this, it was all so ridiculous to her. Allowing them back was no different than a death wish.

" _You_ are risking the lives of every single student in this school," Hermione said firmly and she didn't miss the subtle rise of McGonagall's left eyebrow. "For what? For the belief and hope that they're not _exactly_ like their parents?" She laughed humorlessly. "This war has shown us that we should not be relying on foolish things like _hope_."

A heavy and exaggerated sigh left McGonagall's lips and she shook her head, folding her hands in front of her. She was silent as she looked at Hermione with pitiful eyes. Godric, how she _hated_ pity. Hermione wished she could fire the most painful hexes at everyone who looked at her like that because she did _not_ need anyone's pity. Especially not from a stupid old Scottish witch.

The Headmistress licked her drying lips, "Hope is not foolish. It is beautiful and a light we can all turn to in times of darkness. I have hope for these children and I have the most utmost faith that they are not a threat. I pray you have not lost your own belief in hope, Miss Granger."

Hermione swallowed hard, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hands in an attempt to control her temper. She didn't try to control the shakiness of her voice anymore, "I did when hope stole away the two most important people in my life, _so don't tell me what_ or _what not_ to believe in."

"It's understandable to lose your way after such a terrible tragedy, but please, don't stray too far from your path," she responded with a wiseness that Hermione only recognized in Dumbledore. "I have hope in you too." When the younger witch remained silent, McGonagall readjusted the glasses that perched on her nose, "Will that be all?"

Hermione shot her one last dirty glare, swallowed hard, and spun on her heels—her lips twisting in disgust, "Don't come begging for help when your students are drowning in their own blood."

"Miss Granger!"

The doors closed behind her before the Headmistress could continue scolding. Scarlet rivers leaked through the crescent-moon-shaped indents in her palms—forged by her fingernails—and trickled down her hand. They left small drops of blood on the limestone floor as she walked away.

Hermione decided she was going to go anywhere but the Great Hall. She didn't know how much longer she could keep up the facade that she was okay. It took every burning, aching muscle in her to not scream until her lungs hurt and to not break everything in her path to make her forget how broken she felt inside. One more second of hearing Seamus babble on about his fucking heroic acts during the war, and she would snap. Plus, with the newly arrived group of Death Eater children in there, someone was bound to get hurt at her hands.

She was done playing the good girl.

Walking down a flight of stairs, the Gryffindor made her way to the Underground Chambers, it protected the Philosopher's Stone in her first year. She had thought about coming months prior but resisted the urge because of the risks. She couldn't care less now.

The memories of her first-year flashed painfully in her mind as Hermione passed through all six individual chambers; each challenge already solved from years prior. She took long strides past the door with keys jammed into it and past the shattered chess pieces. She stopped at the seventh chamber and a blast of frigid air sent a chill down her spine. Hermione walked to the antique mirror situated in the middle of the room, pressing her fingers on the cold glass as two figures formed beside her.

She understood now why Dumbledore had hidden the Mirror of Erised this deep inside the school. Harry and Ron looked so real and so alive as they stood behind her, cheeky smiles stretched across their lips. If she hadn't known better, she would be glued to this spot and it would take an army to move her. Hermione bit her lips back and released a shuddery breath.

" _I miss you two so much,_ " she whispered to no one. Harry's illusion smiled sadly. He lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder, and Hermione _swore_ she could feel it; the warmth of his always steady and reassuring hold. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she let out a choking sob and collapsed to the floor. She forced herself to tear her eyes from the mirror, hugging her knees to her chest as she allowed herself to cry openly and freely.

Screw it, no one could hear her.

Hermione had never felt so weak before. She hated it. Hated the way it felt to go through each day as if she were walking on a tightrope; like one small misstep could cause her to fall into a cage crafted by her own mind, flesh, and bones. She was suffocating, drowning in her muddled thoughts every single hour of the day, every minute, every second.

And she knew now more than ever that her weakness wasn't because of her blood status, despite what her school bullies tried to tell her. It was just her damn personality, her need to always be kind, do the right thing. It made her naive, oblivious to the truth that love and good don't always win. She knew this now. The mere power of love itself was not going to help them vanquish Voldemort and his following.

Blood had never been so insignificant until the last battle. Her entire life, it had been blood purity _this_ , and blood purity _that_. What difference had it made in the end? They all came to be cold bodies piled up on top of each other, with the same sticky crimson-red liquid that pooled from their cracked skulls and fatal cuts. Blood purity didn't save them and it never was going to. Screw Voldemort's deceptive promises. Who gave a shit about Purebloods, Half-bloods, and _Mudbloods_ when they all had the same fate in the end? Corpses are identical after all.

There were so many bodies the following morning. It was the most peculiar sight Hermione had ever seen. The sunrise was one of the most stunning ones she'd witnessed. It cast a warm, fiery glow on the courtyard where corpses were all laid out on the floor, some with their eyes still wide open in shock and some with their mouths gaped in a forever scream. The juxtaposition of the sunrise's marking of the new day for those who survived and its marking of the last day for those who died sent bile up her throat.

She found it sickening that it was her that survived the Battle of Hogwarts, and not Harry or Ron. Voldemort's cruel plan was to eradicate all Mudbloods after all—wasn't it? Ron was a Pureblood, for Merlin's sake, and Harry a Half-blood. They'd died protecting her and people like her. If anything, she should've been the one to go. What good was it having magic if she couldn't even protect the ones she loved?

Hermione didn't know how long she sat there and cried, but when she was sure she was on the brink of dehydration, she forced herself to wipe off her tear-stained cheeks. She lifted her fragile body off the cold stone floor, traipsing mindlessly back to the tower. It must have been after curfew already when she emerged from the Chambers because the hallways were pitch black. She retrieved her wand out of her robe and cast a Lumos charm.

Turning a corner, Hermione's body collided with a figure.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, holding her wand higher to see who she had bumped into. To her relief, it wasn't a professor, but at this moment, Hermione hoped it had been. She would give anything to be able to avoid him for the rest of her final year.

"Malfoy," she hissed, narrowing her eyes suspiciously and her lips instinctively curled in disgust. "What the hell are you doing out after curfew?"

He sneered at her, "I could ask you the same, Golden Girl. Did you just come from crying in the loo? You look like a madwoman."

"Did you just come from the cemetery? You look like death," she retorted instantly. Up close and with her bright wand in his face, Hermione could see him clearer. There were dark circles underneath his pupils, his skin was paler than ever—if that were even possible.

The corner of his mouth raised into an amused smirk, "Playful. Where has this side of you been all this time?"

"Shut your mouth," Hermione threatened, keeping her voice low. "You shouldn't be here, you don't _deserve_ to be here."

Malfoy chuckled and looked to the side, clicking his tongue before returning his gaze to her, "That's fucking ironic, Granger. You do see how that's ironic—right?"

"I—I... that's—," she sputtered, unable to find her words.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe and leaned forward, flashing her a devilish grin, "You keep working on that, yeah?"

Malfoy moved past her, muttering something about _"brightest witch of her age, my arse"_ as he disappeared down the dark corridor. She let out a frustrated exhale before continuing back to the Gryffindor Common Rooms. For a fleeting second, Hermione wondered if she should follow him, but she decided against it. Her body ached for her bed, and right now, she couldn't care less. If that twat was up to something, it would be on McGonagall. It was her fault she let them back in. Hermione was tired, _so tired,_ with so many responsibilities. She just wanted a good night's sleep tonight. That was all.

* * *

When Hermione returned to the Common Room, everyone was still up and apparently, still full of energy. A group had circled the fireplace and they were playing some game that incited howls and cheers; it sounded like nails against a chalkboard to her: unpleasant and irritating. She walked along the other side of the room, staying where the fire cast shadows against the maroon wallpaper and hoping she'd be able to reach the dormitories unnoticed.

"Hermione! Where have you been?" Ginny's head poked up from the circle. She spoke with a hint of relief in her voice. "Come join us, we're playing card games."

Hermione closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath. _Fuck_. There go her plans.

Molding her lips to form a smile, she slowly spun on her heels and turned to look at the group of Gryffindors who were staring at her. She shook her head, praying that her reddened eyes could not be seen from where she stood.

"I'd love to," she lied. "But I've had quite a long day and I'd really like to just go to bed."

She gave them a small wave and continued toward the dormitories. She heard footsteps following her and Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Ginny following her. Quickening her pace up the stone stairs, she cast a Glamour spell to hide her swollen eyes.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" the younger witch asked, matching her speed with her friend. They entered their shared room and Hermione made a straight beeline for her bed. She sat on the edge, removing her shoes and heavy Gryffindor robes.

"Ginny, I promise, I'm fine," she said when she noticed the girl's concerned expression again. "Stop worrying all the time—"

"Stop," Ginny held up her hand, halting Hermione from continuing her sentence. "You don't have to do that with me."

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, her efforts to get rid of Ginny proving fruitless, "Do what?"

"Put up a wall. A mask. I'm your friend, it's my duty to look out for you."

The older witch resisted the urge to roll her eyes, "Ginny, I swear to Merlin that I am okay."

"You can talk to me," Ginny said, sitting on the edge of the brunette's bed. "Please don't pull away from me—from us. I'm still here, I'm always going to be here."

Hermione sighed and blinked away growing hot tears. Harry and Ron had said that too, she was sick of false promises. "I just need a little more time."

She pulled Hermione into a tight hug, "Harry and Ron are watching over you, and I know they only want happiness from you. They would murder me if they found out I let you shed so many tears over their daft arses."

"I'll be okay, I promise," Hermione assured her, though she didn't know how much truth was held in that statement. It had been months since their passing, and yet, the pain was still fresh in her chest. She pulled away, "I'm really tired, Ginny. You can go back and enjoy yourself. I'll be fine."

Ginny nodded silently and rose. She stopped at the doorway, looking back at Hermione as she closed the door, her eyes sad. "It wasn't your fault, Hermione," she said quietly. "I know you blame yourself, but it's not your fault."

And then she was gone, leaving Hermione alone with the companionship of the moon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and if it did, it would mean a lot of you leave a kudos or a comment! They keep me going ;)
> 
> Ch. 2 will take a little while longer to go up, but I will try my best to post it asap. I love you all!


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